Plague Days
by Zenosyne
Summary: A failed and broken experiment travels into Gotham city to find mercenary work and maybe even a purpose for living. Her first mistake is tying Jonathan Crane to a chair in her living room. The second is getting attached.
1. Hunting Grounds

"He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

A certain Jonathan Crane found himself irritated by many things, and this entire night belonged on that list.

It hadn't been all bad, he'd always wanted to see that fool's face twisted with absolute, unending terror, but without the extra support he'd have to set back his plans at least a month. The longer he waited, the more he risked the Bat finding his locations and destroying his work. And that couldn't happen, not this time. His pride still stung from the last failure.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Thinking about the Batman brought sour feelings which he didn't need right now. Tomorrow, or perhaps even tonight, he could don his mask and bathe an unwitting victim in pure fear to purge his own rotten mood.

Tonight. He'd do it tonight, but that required reaching his apartment in a timely fashion.

It wasn't more than a half hour's walk from here. He cursed himself for not driving back, but the (stolen) car had been in such bad shape already that he doubted if it could handle any more driving, and he hadn't fancied stealing another. This was a good suit, he hadn't worn it with the intention of getting car stink on it.

The Narrows were so filthy that his suit was bound to get dirty anyway. He despised being surrounded by so many pathetic sheep who contented themselves with cheap pleasure and living conditions fit for livestock, but it was a necessary evil. Here, he could "recruit" test subjects without any complaints, and no one would care about his experiments. It helped that he had so many people paid off.

Though, even more avoided squealing for fear of his wrath.

He paused beneath the yellowed glare of a streetlamp. Even without his costume, he shadow stretched across the road like a horribly tall creature reaching for a victim. Whether or not he was Scarecrow, shadows always did amazing things to someone's mind. One would see the shadow before the man and already assume that a monstrous being was almost upon them.

It wasn't wrong. He _was_ a monstrous being and by the time you glimpsed the Scarecrow's shadow, it was already too late.

As much as he berated Nygma for having an ego, his own was larger than the moon. Reminiscing about the faces right before their hearts stopped from terror brought a crooked smile to his lips. People were such interesting packages. They had the oddest, most irrational fears.

Although the fear of himself, which they all shared, was perhaps the most rational fear of all.

He stepped into a darkened alley, not in the least bit worried about what might had been lurking within. No one, no matter how strong or brave, was immune to his fear toxin. Thugs had tried before to mug him. The results had been... well. There was a good reason petty criminals avoided him.

A police car came racing down the road. He leaned closer to the wall, wary of anything that involved those pigs. It had different prey, however, and the police inside wouldn't had noticed him even if he danced in the middle of a spotlight. Two more followed, but by that time he'd lost his caution and regarded the passing cars with scorn.

If he'd been paying slightly more attention to his surroundings rather than assuming himself to be the lord of fear and everything around him, he might had noticed the adjacent building's air conditioning ducts which gave a perfect perch to anyone observing him. Or he might had heard the metallic thumps that sounded at the same time as the sirens. But nothing, _nothing_ , hunted Jonathan Crane.

He only turned around when he felt the weight of eyes and something _wrong_ behind him. He caught the briefest glimpse of an incredibly ugly mask before his head exploded in pain and blackness enveloped him.

* * *

A figure on a rooftop observed a resting beetle with great interest. From this height she would splat like a bug on the concrete below, yet she continued to dangle her feet like nothing was amiss. She clicked at the beetle, the inhuman sound surprisingly loud beneath her hideous mask, but it didn't reply. They rarely answered her, not like the others. This one didn't know her yet.

Looking from a distance or standing at her side, nothing distinguished her as a she or even human; it wouldn't be entirely wrong to assume that a monstrous insect lay beneath her garments, if one heard the sounds coming from her mouth. No one could see her anyway, unless they looked up, but the people never looked up. She knew they never looked up because she had stalked them from above many times before and they never, ever saw her.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten since... two nights ago? She could survive for a longer time than most without food but that didn't mean that she enjoyed it. Last night her scavenging had been cut short when she saw the bat leaving a vehicle near her lair.

 _The bat had a car._ The thought of his increased mobility terrified her to the core.

She ran her tongue over the sharpened points of her teeth, imagining the warmth of a fresh kill against her palette. The thoughts of human prepared meals came to mind as well. They smelled delicious when the scents drifted from inside their homes and restaurants, but she couldn't have that. Things like her weren't allowed to feast on their goods. The scraps she stole while they slept were what she had to content herself with, apart from what she hunted.

Thinking about food did nothing to bring it. She shook the thoughts from her head and began climbing down the fire escape to see if she could actually eat that night. Near the bottom she paused and stared inside the apartment where two people, facing away from her, sat watching television. The female's arm wrapped around the male's shoulders and they both leaned into one another slightly. A pang of jealousy struck her.

She clicked irritably and finished her descent. A few hisses directed at rats caused them to scurry away as fast as they could. She had no sympathy for the tiny beasts and always felt a little offended by their presence. Sometimes she would hunt them down and gift their hideous bodies to the maggots, but tonight she needed a different hunt.

Well, there were a few things she needed to hunt for, but first came food.

How did one even find his kind of work? He told her that she could find people who would pay handsomely for her particular talents in this city, but how was she supposed to find them? Though there were colonies apart from the masses, the gangs and mobs and such, it wasn't like she could just walk into their nests and announce herself.

Money was pointless, anyway. She couldn't waltz into a store to spend it even if she wanted to.

Usually there were vagrants and criminals walking the streets at night, unaware of the predator stalking them, but tonight there were none. She couldn't smell so much as a passed out drunk. It wouldn't kill her to miss any prey tonight, but she was almost out of food at her hideout and needed to feed the others before herself. Not every bug accepted rotten meals. It would be almost kinder some days to force them outside to hunt for themselves, but she couldn't bear to part from any of her darlings.

Inhuman or not, she had a heart and it would break quite easily.

It took a half hour of mindless wandering before she decided that she was wasting her time. Eyeing an air conditioning duct which provided a ledge a good thirty feet off the ground, she scrambled to the top of a dumpster and leapt. A lower horizontal bit of the duct, just reachable from the top of the dumpster, held her weight easily. The other pipes running across the building and her enjoyment of climbing made it a simple task to reach the higher ledge.

While it wasn't quite the top of the building, her new perch gave her both a hiding spot and a position where she could easily watch the alley for a potential meal. She reckoned she could even carry the prey a few blocks to her lair to be uninterrupted. The lack of color on her clothing made her seem more like a shadow than a living creature, perfect for blending into her hiding spot.

Crouching with her arms between her legs and gloved hands flat on the metal perch, she waited. When she stood still, she _really_ stood still. Nothing on her twitched or fidgeted. Not even the gentle rise and fall of her breathing chest could be seen. She could wait for hours, perhaps as long as days, in this position. She had been designed to do so, after all.

It took over an hour before she sensed movement beyond the shaking of leaves in a breeze. A lone human came within her sight. Male, she thought, but she couldn't be too sure until he came closer. The way he carried himself reminded her of someone who hadn't the slightest fear of a predator, which suited her purposes just fine. As he came almost within her range, she considered her options. Leaping on the ground from thirty feet in the air, even with a fleshy human to break her fall, didn't quite appeal to her. On the other hand, dropping back down on the other lengths of pipe and ducts quickly enough to catch him could alert him to her presence.

A siren screeching past them came to her rescue. The figure darted away from the sudden red and blue lights, pressing himself against the side of the building. She took the opportunity to reach the ground again, a couple more passing police cars both covering her noise and distracting the prey. While he studied the street the cars had blazed past, she moved into position behind him and unstrapped a crowbar from her side.

And the moment he turned around, the weapon collided with his head with a savage _thunk_ and he collapsed before her.

* * *

 **This is a rather short chapter, I'm aware. I'm mostly testing the waters, but I guarantee that I'll post at least a couple more chapters since this is barely even a taste of the main character.**


	2. Arachnophobia

**Fast update because I mean to get a few starter chapters out before I decide on a more consistent schedule. Believe or not after this chapter and glimpsing the main character's mental state, this story _is_ about a positive relationship between the two... after a freight train's worth of character development. It'll also be written mostly from her POV, eventually.**

* * *

"If you could be either God's worst enemy or nothing, which would you choose?"

-Chuck Palahniuk, _Fight Club_

* * *

The stench invaded his nostrils long before he awoke. As sweet as cheap perfume but with an expansive quality that forced it to cling to the sweat on his skin, the reek of the dead was unmistakable even before he could form thoughts within his barely conscious state. A lesser man would take one whiff of the pungent air and spill the contents of his stomach. Jonathan Crane, however, had far too much experience with the dead and dying to become nauseated so easily.

Clicking, too. He heard the clicking before he opened his eyes. And something fuzzy tickling his cheek, moving closer to his lips...

He cracked open his eyes. A moth the length of his pinky finger crept along his face, irritating an aching bruise. His fingers twitched reflexively, ready to swat away the pest, but a knot of rope bound his hands behind his back and prevented them from moving.

No, not his back. They were bound behind the back of a chair. His entire body had been tied to a tall, wooden chair.

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced down a wave of sudden fury. Who dared to tie him, Gotham's Lord of Fear, to a chair?! The nerve was appalling. Damn them, he'd make sure they suffered from their worst nightmares but their death would not come on swift wings, it would creep forward as gradual as the hands of the clock until even that morbid salvation seemed impossible...

But there was no time for anger. He'd have to contain himself for now. Later, after he turned the tables on whatever idiotic fool had done this, he would smash their face in with the same weapon that had knocked him out.

Once again he opened his eyes, this time to examine his surroundings. The only bits of light around the decrepit room came from a couple scattered flashlights and a single, dimly lit oil lamp. Moths of all shapes and sizes flocked around the points of light, taking no caution when they brushed against him. A half-eaten couch sat in the corner, a flashlight resting on a cushion, and there were a few other surfaces in the room.

Every surface was covered in small cages and glass jars. He could see things moving inside some, and in others the flickering light revealed the silhouettes of their inhabitants – insects, and a variety of other arthropods.

The bones coating the ground were largely of human origin.

Most of the moths hung around the only other person in the room. His assailant lay on their stomach on the ground next to the oil lamp, feet kicked up into the air and elbows resting on the floor, their hands cradling their head like a small child at a sleepover. The person's stench repulsed him; the rotting odor clung to them as it did the cracks in the floor, and he doubted if their clothing had ever been cleaned. They wore an dark combat armor of a model he hadn't seen before, all of it falling apart and covered in streaks of blood and gore.

And there was the mask he had caught of brief glimpse of as he blacked out. It was a hideous thing, not unlike his own, but his was a beautiful embodiment of fear while this was simply ugly. He guessed that it had originally been a simple gas mask, but in between the twin side canisters lay an addition secured by a strap running all the way to the top. It was a beak made of leather. He wondered why someone so obsessed with bugs would be wearing the face of a bird, although more likely it was meant to resemble a plague doctor's mask.

A fear of disease, perhaps? This would be entertaining.

The person ignored his piercing stare and continued to focus on whatever they were clicking at. He hadn't seen it at first glance, but they were facing a praying mantis. The insect appeared to be paying strict attention to them, although he suspected that it had more interest in the moths.

And his suspicion proved to be correct. One of the moths, upon coming closer to the motionless mantis, soon found itself impaled on one of the insect's scythe-like forelegs.

His assailant stopped their incessant clicking and, standing, turned their interest towards him. The tinted lens of the mask glowed amber in the firelight. It matched the burnt red hue of the mask and its bronze rivets rather well.

No words were exchanged. The person studied him for a full minute, the rise and fall of their chest slowing until they seemed to be barely breathing, before turning their back to him. A hood attached to a tattered cloak prevented him from seeing the back of their head, but he would see their face soon enough when he ripped away the mask to better hear their screams.

With their attention away from him for a moment, he tested the ropes binding his hands together. The knot was incredibly basic and it would take thirty seconds, if not less, to free himself. He was vaguely surprised that someone with such a great collection of human remains would be unable to properly secure a prisoner, but he supposed that not everyone would be as cautious as himself. A maniac like this likely didn't have the intellect to understand these sort of details.

He used his fingers to undo the ropes as much as possible until he appeared to be securely bound without a closer inspection, yet it'd take only a second or two for his hands to slip free. Just as soon as his assailant turned back around, he had finished. A smirk ghosted his lips. When the time was right he'd begin his revenge.

On the table behind the person, where there were only a few containers, he spotted a thick folder and scattered weapons, mostly blades. He doubted they could handle the small handgun, but then again, even his hired thugs had the brains to aim and shoot. It was entirely possible that this one knew how to use it. He'd have to wait for a perfect opportunity to strike and grab the gun first.

Now, to intimidate or not to intimidate?

If they had gone this far in kidnapping him and didn't have the skills to prevent his escape, they obviously didn't know who he was. They could had been an assassin, yet no assassin would be so stupid in their methods. He could reveal his identity, but that would make them more likely to attempt to kill him quickly. Someone like this obviously wouldn't release him no matter what his identity.

Right now, with his broken glasses and dirty suit, he wouldn't look like too much of a threat. He would use that for now and lure them into a false sense of security. It would make the later terror even more satisfying.

Funny how his "captor" had never been in control from the moment they touched him. The Joker would get a kick out of the situation.

He'd make certain that they didn't know his reputation. "An unusual criminal you are," he began in a tone as cold as the ice in his eyes. "Tell me, was this a premeditated crime? So smart you must be to avoid running into the likes of Victor Zsasz or the Scarecrow."

No reaction to either his biting sarcasm or the names. Of course they could know full well who they were dealing with, but for now he'd assume that they had no such knowledge.

Throughout his taunt, they hadn't so much as looked in his direction. Now they reached forward, gloved hand giving him a close-up of the foul smell, and took the moth on his face onto their index finger. Still not close enough for him to get a good strike in. The moth quivered there for a few seconds before circling the light of the lantern.

Perhaps he would use his words to incapacitate them rather than mere actions. To see the scum trembling at his feet before they even tasted his toxin, brought down by his words alone... such a beautiful image!

The person was quiet, absolutely silent. He wasn't sure if they could even speak beyond the bizarre clicks. This wouldn't work if he couldn't catch their attention with a topic they would respond to.

"You have a very interesting mask. A bird, is it?" They tilted their head in his direction and examined him through amber lens. They then gave a small shrug and turned back around to shift through the objects on the table.

His tone slowly shifted to one he used whenever acting as a psychiatrist. "If not a bird, then are you acting as a plague doctor? Nosemaphobia, perhaps? Do you fear a sickness, doctor? The plague?"

This earned him a response. They turned slightly to study him once more, and replied in an empty tone, "I am the plague." Their voice had a harsh, grating quality to it and he could tell that they had not spoken in a long time.

He nodded as if understanding. "Ah, so Hypochondria. You fear that you may already have a sickness within you."

"No. It is not in me. I am it." Their back faced him once more. "I'm not a doctor."

It would take more work to determine the exact meaning of their words. He assumed the person believed that they were a plague, that their presence was a plague to others, but there were such a variety of fears it could be referring to. He had once met a mentally unstable man who believed himself to be the origin of diseases.

Such possibilities! He would take great pleasure in breaking this new test subject.

"You are a disease yet you wear a mask meant to prevent catching a disease. Fascinating. The men who used to wear those masks were terrified of the very thing they studied." He paused to study their reaction. When there was none, he continued, "You have had guests before myself. Did you attempt to cure them? Or perhaps you spread a plague to them?"

They faced him with a bloodstained hunting knife. A shake of the head was the only answer he received.

His eyes held not even a sliver of fear. "Not a doctor nor a spreader of sickness. What a mystery plague you are."

"Not a mystery. We're going to eat you."

By "we", they meant themselves and the bugs. "Ah, I should had guessed as such. I can see that your other visitors shared this fate. Not many have acquired such an exotic taste."

He was confusing them. Their head tilted to the side again and they moved the knife from one hand to the other. He doubted the victims had done much besides scream and beg. He didn't count himself as ever being a victim with them, as this murderer would soon find out who the true victim was.

Very carefully, though still in the same emotionless tone, they replied, "I'm going to eat you because I must. You start to like the taste after a while."

Incredibly unstable. This was good. It wouldn't take much work to unravel their mind even if he didn't use his fear toxin. His previous fury still rested heavy in his thoughts, of course, but it had mostly been replaced with excitement.

A second, paler moth alighted on him, making him all too aware of how sensitive parts of his face were after being hit with a blunt weapon. The wings were mere gossamers, translucent enough for him to see through and within it. The long, long tail tickled his chin even while it rested much higher on his face. The person stared at the ghostly green insect and stepped closer.

"Actias luna," they whispered. He could barely hear their already muffled voice. "She loses her mouth when she emerges from her cocoon and awaits the swiftly approaching midnight when she will mate and die..."

The pale moth left his face for a more suitable perch, and he knew exactly how to capture the masked fool's attention: "Their tails are long so that bats cannot catch them; the bats foolishly aim for the tails and lose the moth."

Their head snapped so subtly at it appeared to be no more than a twitch, but he recognized that they had turned their full attention to him.

"Fascinating, aren't they? Just like your mantis friend. They don't kill their prey before beginning to eat, I wonder how its moth feels now?"

"Do you like bugs, too? You're the first person to talk to me about bugs. The others tried to blow the moths away so I had to slit their throats. I did it, I splashed the blood for everyone to smell and they would scream and bubble but it didn't matter because I'd be hungry by then and I can't help it when I smell their blood and I-

Would you like to meet Charlie?"

That had been the most words he'd heard them speak yet. He had finally heard enough to guess that they were female, and when she walked behind him the way she placed one foot in front of the other confirmed it. Female. Her steps were light, but the floorboards groaned so loudly that it was a miracle nothing had fallen through. He would hazard a guess that the wood had been rotting for a while, and it was doubtless that this entire building had been forsaken for quite some time. If the state of this room didn't give that away, the horrid stench certainly did.

He pressed his wrists together to hide how loose the ropes had become. Now would be a perfect time to grab the gun and take control, but he wanted to overpower her with words alone. Using a physical weapon would be too easy.

Whoever this Charlie was, they were kept within one of the creakiest cages in the room. The sounds of a heavy object scraping across the wooden floorboards also reached his ears, and after a minute she returned to his field of vision, dragging with her a chair similar to the one he sat in. She left it with the back facing him and sat in it herself. Her arms folded on the top of the chair's back, and with her head resting on top of her arms, he was left in a position where he could look down on her.

She moved her arm closer to him and pointed out the huge, shiny spider with an unmistakable crimson emblem on its abdomen. His eyes held an excited glint, but not for the reason she suspected. He could have her twisted around his finger any time he wanted, and then the terror would begin. True, unabridged terror!

"This is Charlie," she said in a voice as excited as he felt. "She's one of my favorites. She's always hungry, always so, so hungry. Just like me."

The spider was pressed closer to him. He didn't shy away, he had no fear of pests, but he kept a careful eye on it to avoid being bitten.

"And she loves me, too. She loves me just as much as I love her. Of course she couldn't hurt me even if she wanted to, but she's never tried to bite me because she loves me."

He nodded along with her coddling speech, his gaze never leaving her after the spider was returned to her arm. Most people would falter under his impossibly cold and calculating blue eyes. He couldn't see beneath her mask, but the way she paused after her last words confirmed that she was no exception.

"She's a fine specimen," he continued when she did not. "Most would fear her, but you do not. That is very good, although I must wonder, what does one fear when they do not fear a venom such as hers? You as fine a specimen as she."

She reached out and spread her fingers towards him, but did not make contact. "You're different." She cocked her head once more, a habit which he had quickly grown used to interpreting. "The others, none of them cared about anything outside of their lives. But you... you know about my bugs and you don't beg. Aren't you afraid?"

 _That_ was amusing. He threw back his head and laughed, hard. The Joker would had been relieved that that good professor could laugh after all, although this sound had a bit too much madness entwined within it to be healthy. In fact, some might say it wasn't a laugh at all. It was cold and shriveled compared to what a laugh should be, more likely to unnerve his prey rather than putting her at ease. And indeed, she flinched backwards, obviously cautious about his changed state of mind.

He had _scared_ her.

"Afraid?" he asked, unable to hide the amusement from his voice. "My dear, I fear _nothing_. Not the insects nor arachnids, not this darkness or the bones. _And most certainly not you._ " His excitement rose as he spoke, as well as the threat in his tone. For just a moment he had sounded like the Scarecrow.

As expected, she flinched once more, much harder this time, and moved a little backwards. A few, startled clicks erupted from behind her mask. As much as he enjoyed this, he needed to see her face. He yearned to see the terror written there in a much simpler language.

She waited a tense moment before speaking again. "I like you. It's a shame I have to kill you. We need your blood now, I can't wait I can smell it rushing underneath your skin... but I wish I didn't have to. You're odd and you scare me a little but that's because you're special."

 _You scare me._ Music to his ears, a prelude to her delicious screams.

"I might say that it is your lucky night, but unfortunately you will find yourself regretting your words." A predatory grin took control of his face.

She tensed, visible even underneath her bulky clothing. Who did she kill to steal it? It didn't matter now. Its stink was so awful that he might burn it before locking her up, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. And her mask, he would allow her to think that she had a small token of hope and protection before he ripped it away and revealed to her just how vengeful he could be.

No words came from her mouth. She began clicking again, perhaps forgetting the mechanisms of human speech in her terror. The moment was so perfect, he couldn't resist. As she began leaning away, the untied ropes fell from his hands and he reached forward; his unfettered hands snatched away the spider, its body gleaming in the dim lantern's light just as the madness glinted in his own eyes, and he wrenched it away from its only salvation.

Its body squished with a satisfying _crunch_.

He felt time freeze as he stared ravenously into the tinted eyepieces of her mask. No expression could be seen, but he could sense her mind cracking alongside her little pest. Her breathing stopped, and she didn't twitch a muscle until a full ten seconds later when he leaned in closer to take in more of her fear.

The shriek that ripped from her throat wasn't human. It reminded him more of a siren, so high pitched that it could be used as a weapon. There was hissing, too, mixed in at the end like the hissing of a monstrous cockroach. The noise didn't stop when she jolted up from her seat and pounced on him. With the shrill, deafening screech so close to his ears, he grimaced and his fist connected with her mask.

It stopped. One of the lens cracked but didn't shatter. This hadn't been his plan. He had meant to force her to cower at his feet, not for her to end up on top of him and attack. She no longer had the knife, but her hands were weapons enough. If he hadn't been familiar with hand-to-hand combat, one of her strikes might had landed. She was incredibly light, and he pushed her away the moment she paused her attack.

They both scrambled to their feet and glared at one another. She hadn't reached for the gun, or even a weapon. In her rage, she might not even remember the weapons' presence. He straightened himself and smoothed the wrinkles from his suit.

"Child, that wasn't even the beginning of what I'm going to do to you..."

His face ached from the crowbar's bruise, but he felt fantastically alive. She spat, "Her children will spin their webs in your hollow body. This is what humans do, you cannot cleanse yourself of your filth even if desire it."

He chuckled. Such disobedience. Did she not yet see that he was in control here? He edged to the side of her, hoping she would move to face him and he would be able to snatch a weapon, but she did no such thing. Too bad... he had wanted her to suffer a little more before he gassed her.

Would his fear toxin work in a gaseous form? On a working gas mask it would have no effect, but he didn't know if the filters on her mask were expired or not. There was _no_ way someone in her mental state could figure out that she needed to replace the filters if they had gone bad.

He whipped a small can from the inside of his suit and sprayed. She clicked furiously and jumped back from the swirling cloud of pure fear. No screams sounded, so it hadn't gotten through, but the same couldn't be said for the moths. They went absolutely insane when the gas hit them. Most of them flew wildly around the room, smacking into the walls and objects in their blind panic, while a few began attacking anything that moved.

Which meant him. They avoided their owner and swooped at himself. He swatted the vile things away, determined to keep his attention on his victim.

She emerged from the cloud of fear and walked at a steady pace towards him, no weapon in hand. Perfect. He returned the small can to his inner pocket and held out a syringe in its place. Her approach was ignored as he gave a few taps to remove any air bubbles – no point in risking damage to the patient when he planned on both further experimentation and vengeance.

Her plans were a mystery to him, seeing as she had no weapons and the syringe in his hand was very noticeable. As she came close enough to swing her fists, he backed up until he was against the wall and then grabbed her shoulders while spinning around. She had no time to react before she was pinned against the wall, his free hand gripping her wrists.

Strange that she made no move against him, but he assumed that this was out of terror. Now, where to inject her? There was no skin visible, so he'd have to either push up one of her sleeves or...

"Remove your mask," he commanded. A needle in the neck would be _incredibly_ satisfying.

Her breathing slowed and her resistance had ground to a halt. He released one of her hands and she reached up to the corner of her mask, pushing it a little further up her face so that he could see her mouth a just a touch of her nose...

Perfect to hear her screams, but he still needed to see the horror clouding the eyes of his "captor".

She paused in removing her mask, fingers tapping on the edge of a canister. Her face split into a savage grin, the fiery lantern light flickering against rows of ruthlessly sharpened teeth, and now he could feel the force of her baleful gaze almost as harshly as she felt his own stare... They stood locked in that position for a moment that lasted a lifetime before she twitched, and suddenly her mouth had filled with the skin of his arm holding the syringe.

Snarling, he dropped his weapon and struck her with his other hand. She didn't budge. He could _feel_ something moving through his bloodstream. The moment her fangs had ripped through his arm, the flesh had been set on fire. He punched her again, and again, and finally she released his arm and licked the blood dripping from her teeth.

"Fuck you," she hissed.

He considered taking another syringe and slamming it into her flesh, but the imaginary flames licking the inside of his flesh had not subsided in the least. Whether she was some kind of changed human like Poison Ivy or she had coated her teeth in poison, she had bitten him and now there was venom coursing through his veins. It was disgusting, to say the least, and his ire had returned tenfold.

She didn't follow when he backed into a different room, hurling threats to return and force her to beg at his feet until the sun itself died. She didn't stop him from exiting the apartment and trying to get out of the building without it collapsing on top of him. She did, however, curl around the small, crumpled body of a spider and whimper until she fell into a fearful nightmare.

It wasn't a success, but he hadn't lost. He knew where she lived, and he would hunt her down and enact his revenge. There were enough people under his employ to watch the building from dawn to dusk to dawn once more, and she would be completely at his mercy.

This venom, however, would be an issue.


	3. Don't Starve

**This was a really difficult chapter to write for some reason - this is one of several versions I wrote out. I'm thinking of updating every other Friday, so expect an update the next Friday (or this Friday, if I'm motivated). _Thank you_ sincerely to the people who reviewed, with college kicking my ass you're the reason this isn't coming out even later!  
**

* * *

"Do you have any idea how many lives we could save if they would use the damn death penalty? The estimated death toll for one of the Joker's rampages three years back was thirty-six, and that doesn't include the casualties or the missing. My partner was in that, and you know what he got? He got his whole damn lungs exploded right out of his chest, while the Joker got a month of time out in Arkham before blowing his way out! This has gone on for too long. They're scum, all of them masked freaks. Even the mob has higher standards. I don't care if they have some goddamn tragic backstory, murder is murder and none of them are worth the lives they've destroyed."

-Anonymous GPD Officer

* * *

Sleep, being the less amiable and much more volatile sister of Death, did nothing to soothe the bug girl's shaken mind. She awoke after less than an hour of thrashing and, maskless, padded softly through the empty apartment hallways into the attic, still damp from the last rain. Moonlight peeked in through the broken spaces of the roof, illuminating just enough of the space for a human to see. She didn't need the extra help, of course, and crouched in a darkened spot while she waited for her mind to stop spinning.

It grimaced at her in what she reckoned was meant to be a grin every time she shut her eyes, the beast that was more of an unspeakable horror than an insect. She avoided blinking for as long as she could then tried to focus anywhere but where it wanted her to look, at its familiar curves and alarming inhuman eyes. They shone like polished obsidian and something about them created a inexplicable sense of desire alongside the overwhelming dread.

The more she glimpsed it beneath her eyelids, the more she felt a familiar itch on her forearms. It trickled down to the rest of her body, right to the tips of her toes. Slowly, very slowly, it escalated into a crawling sensation not unlike something gently squeezing around her and locking into place. The moment she realized it was beginning to harden, she shuddered and began ripping away layers of clothing. Her trembling fingers nearly shredded the thinner pieces in her haste.

Her ghostly arms looked the same as any human's, no sign of a chitinous shell, but she couldn't take any chances. She'd seen one of the others where it grew beneath the skin and eventually the human bits of him shriveled and peeled away like an old, forgotten sunburn. They neutralized him not long after for resisting commands. The ichor in his veins ran black as anything she'd ever seen, not the promised golden rivers after all, black as death and dead as them all and she'd seen just how dead they could become-

With a frenzied cry she slid a pointed nail beneath her flesh and sliced through it. She met no resistance from anything growing under her skin but nonetheless cast a wary eye over the stinging line for any discolored fluids. It was exceptionally human, to her great relief, and she left it alone to join the other scars. The hot stink of blood filled her nostrils. Even though it was her own, she was so hungry at this point that the smell caused her mind to grow hazy and for her rationality to become a mere pinprick in the face of starvation. It lasted for less than a minute, but that was more than long enough to remind her of her current condition.

She whined lowly between clenched teeth. Everywhere where he had struck her ached. Was this how wounds normally felt or had he broken something? She couldn't tell. Something wasn't right in her chest, with every breath it poked at her insides and sent stabbing pains across her body. She needed help, a doctor, but she couldn't exactly waltz into a hospital and demand to be healed. They would examine her and find more than just wounds, and then questions would come beyond what had injured her, and they would take knives and scalpels and study her like the scientists did to the ones who didn't make it past the early stages of mutation... She wouldn't put herself at a doctor's mercy.

Before she'd retreated to the attic to think and be alone, and now she forced herself to forget the pain and plan. She needed food. She could not, however, hunt in her current condition. Even if she miraculously pushed away her aching wounds and focused on snatching a meal, nothing apart from a human child would be easy prey and something about hunting their young nauseated her. It wasn't sympathy or some kind of sliver of humanity, it was simply... they sickened her. That was what she told herself, she couldn't bear to touch such a disgusting creature.

Another option existed - it always existed - and it had been suggested to her by numerous individuals. She couldn't take it, however. Whether it was her psychological training or something hardwired into her biology she had no idea, but she had been programmed like a lowly machine to be unable to go down that route. She'd attempted it more than once, but her body would not allow it. She also suspected that her programming would not allow her to lie down and die.

She didn't want to give up her lair. If anything ventured inside, she figured, she would just kill it. This time it would be different, she knew to end it quickly rather than play with her meal. And they would certainly come, but unlike the difficulties with hunting this was in her own territory. She only needed to wait for them to draw close before she injected a fatal amount of venom into their systems and it would be over. Except if they didn't come quickly, if he drew out his promises of revenge, then she would starve...

It took less effort than she expected to dress herself and begin walking. She bid farewell to the moonlight and returned to the main part of her lair, her "living room" in other terms. Before she threw herself into the waiting arms of danger she needed to give her friend a proper burial. It was cruel and unfair that such lovely a spider would be murdered by that foul, _human_ man, but there would be a time for bitter vengeance later. Now was the time to say goodbye.

She lowered her face to the spider's body and whispered her farewells. The man's strange chemicals had soaked into the floorboards where she slept curled around the corpse earlier, and when she lowered her head to the spot, her heart pounded harder than ever and she felt bits of panic creeping into the edges of her mind. Whatever he did, he had ruined her special place. The bugs, too, avoided the spot. They had mostly returned to normal, but the bodies of moths who had taken in too much of the toxic gas littered the floor. She avoided looking at any of them for too long.

"Goodbye my sweet sunshine," she murmured. She disliked the word sunshine; being a creature of the night, she had no sunshine, _deserved_ no sunshine. It left a bitter image in her mind and she regretted using it. Yet she could take it back as much as she could resurrect the spider, so she made no correction.

The body was like paper in her hands. She held it carefully to avoid breaking off any legs, thankful that no parts had fallen yet. Nothing had begun scavenging it, either. Perhaps this was due to the toxin that had seeped into the surrounding floorboards, but she like to believe the others respected their fallen comrade. Charlie had been the queen of queens. Neither death nor the passing of time could change that. Dead spiders – especially ones with the long, long legs of a widow – reminded her of a ribcage. The legs curled up in all sharp angles and broken joints until the body withered away in its decline. Her queen didn't deserve this... this disfiguration.

She gritted her teeth and snarled, "I'll make him pay."

 _Make him pay._ She moved in solitude through the apartments, ducking beneath broken ceiling beams and stepping cautiously over heaps of rubble. The main stairway had remained relatively intact in its years of abandonment, but there were a few spots she knew well enough to step over. It was honestly a miracle no one had decided to tear the old place down. She supposed that no one would want to build again in such a rotten bit of the city, and sometimes people passing near would talk about the dead which still remained within.

Ghosts weren't her problem. She didn't believe in them, and if a ghost introduced itself to her one day then she would just eat it.

The air tasted old and molding, but the deeper she descended the more she could detect sour undertones. The end of the staircase didn't lead to the basement directly – she had to walk a good fifteen feet to another, thicker door which read ' _Staff Only_ '. Inside the ceiling was low enough that she nearly had to duck her head, and the darkness enveloped her so entirely that even her advanced eyes could only vague shapes.

She navigated mainly by her nose. That, too was compromised down here. The natural scents of earth beneath the crumbling floorboards, mixed with whiffs of mold and moisture, and finally the eye-watering stench pouring from shapes on the ground she took great care to avoid, made it difficult to find a relatively clean spot. The garbage had been here since the building was a functioning apartment, and she suspected that some of the trash was a bit more recent and contained some things not meant for people to find. It wasn't her business if people chose to bear the stench, but if she ever caught someone then they would regret it. They were in her territory, after all.

The smell... Some bug she was, unable to handle the reek of garbage.

Her ceremony, if one could even call it that, passed quickly. She peeled away a suspiciously damp floorboard and scratched a hole barely large enough to stuff the spider into. The dead didn't need elaborate coffins and tombstones, it was merely a ritual to show her devotion to the friendship even after death. That, and she wished to be away from the basement and back into her lair.

On the way back she paused and ventured into the ground floor. It was nearly dawn and the sky had already grown amber in preparation for the sun. She ducked behind a curtain before peering outside - no need for anyone to glimpse her without the mask - and knew instinctively that the thick man on the street corner was watching for her to flee. She'd seen their type before. Usually the leaders of the human swarms, the hidden ones that dumped bodies and preyed on others, employed anyone with muscles to do their dirty work. She could take him with no problem if her fangs met his neck before he could reach his weapon, but there was never just one.

So the man had hunters under his command. It was possible they didn't mean to kill her quite yet, since the amount on venom inside him wouldn't be fatal but it would be _quite_ a setback. To think that she'd carry a cure to something she had no worry of was laughable, but they would seek her out nonetheless.

The daylight hours passed slowly even in her sleep. The toxin-soaked floorboards presented her with nightmares every time she shut her eyes near it, so she rested in the attic despite the chill creeping in. At times she found tears accompanying her waking moments and bitterly wiped them away. Only humans cried, she was above their nonsense emotions. Before they would have beat her or dislocated an arm in exchange for crying. To do it now, after all her training... such a waste. No cathartic release came from any of it.

She couldn't sleep for more than an hour at a time thanks to the sharp hunger pains piercing her belly. For a single, crazed moment after the third awakening she considered taking a mouthful of her own flesh to calm her stomach. She was starving. And she needed actual man to recover her strength this time, nothing else would satisfy her body's needs... She could swear she hadn't been this hungry the night before. It must had been the wounds and her grieving, they were weakening her into this pathetic state.

For the time being she would escape, regain her strength, then return in a couple days to make him pay. She slipped her mask back on when she sensed the night overtaking the city, instantly calmed by the familiar smells of rubber and leather despite her annoyance at the cracked right lens. As for her thick folder with the papers she'd stolen about herself and the lab and her future, she couldn't risk the man coming in and deciphering them. She wedged it into the newly empty spider cage with full confidence that no one would stick their hands into a space covered in webs.

Her favorite blade, the hunting knife, she hid on her person. It wasn't like she could bite with her mask on. She half regretted not arming herself further, but she needed to keep most of them in her lair and she wouldn't be able to sneak around if she had to fear stabbing herself with a knife she'd forgotten was in her shoe. It was already a problem to get past the hunters outside in her current condition.

That _was_ a problem. They were likely watching every entrance, but the pains in her chest wouldn't allow her to flee from higher ground. Even walking down the stairs she winced at every step. Her handler would have shot her on the spot if he had known she'd struggle someday with stairs, assuming he wouldn't already eliminate her for letting someone escape. She had to fix that mistake as soon as possible.

"Make him pay," she growled. It wasn't just her honor at stake; this was Charlie's revenge.

No one met her when she left through a side door. She pulled her hood tighter over her mask and glanced down the alleyway, yet it remained empty. So be it. Clinging close to the building, she made a beeline for the actual street. They couldn't see if her she ducked behind the line of parked cars.

Except they _could_ see her, and it became apparent when the door of the car she crouched behind flew open and smacked her squarely in the jaw where the mask did not quite cover. She reeled backwards, the wounds from before flaring up, and swung instinctively in the direction of the car. Her fist met the door with a metallic _clang_ and something else cracked down on her back. Blurred spots danced in her vision alongside the sudden rippling across her spine, and she fell to the ground in a fit of agony.

He stood over her - bulky, imposing, and with a face as crooked as a thief - and said something undoubtedly meant to be intimidating. She was more focused on the state of her back than his words. When he grabbed the back of her jacket with a meaty fist and dragged her to the car, she snapped her teeth together feebly despite her mouth being covered. It did nothing to ease the angry bump rising on her jaw.

She was shoved into the car unceremoniously. She hadn't the slightest idea where they were taking her but knew exactly who they were taking her to. It didn't matter, she was more furious about the situation itself. They had actually captured her! This would not stand, she wouldn't be contained by some grimy, uneducated human, she needed to slit his throat and taste the blood she needed to sustain herself...

The one next to her, with the cold gun pressed to her head, coughed. He had an sickness of some sort, a cold or sinus infection. It gave her nothing but ideas. "What's the pay for this round?" he asked inbetween.

"Best not to pester if he didn't tell you." That came from in front of her but to the right, on the passenger's side. Why had they put her behind the driver? Did they really think the gun would stop her?

The first snorted, though it was partly a cough. "You really figure that shit'll hold? One 'a these days we won't get payed at all. Anyways I heard from one of the boys that there was trouble last night."

"So? It's happened before. Remember when the Mar-" he cut off abruptly as they hit a pothole and the car jerked a good few inches into the air. The bug girl hissed quietly, feeling sudden jolts of pain at the movement.

They didn't hear her. "All I'm sayin'," replied the coughing man. "Just pointing out that it could change and I ain't gonna be around when he falls out."

"It won't change."

The driver broke his silence: "Everything changes."

They didn't return to the conversation after that. She had listened to them dimly, but none of it registered in her mind. She fixated her attention on escape and how quickly he could pull the trigger. At this speed it'd be impossible to jump out without getting killed and she didn't fancy the possibility of getting run over. The obvious solution needed an opportunity...

Experimentally, she opened her mouth, grimacing at the heavy aches in her chest when her throat began to vibrate, and clicked. She was rewarded with the gun being pressed tighter against her skull. Despite the warning she repeated the noise, and the man in the front passenger's side exclaimed, "Jesus, can you make him stop that?!"

He slammed the gun into her face and snarled, "Stop."

She didn't stop. The one pulling the strings would want her alive to fix her venom. She expected to be hit harder, but the man in front shouted again at the one with the gun, who argued back that he couldn't shoot her. She started to suspect that the former detested bugs from the way he shivered when she clicked and regretted not being able to use it against him.

Their argument increased in volume, much to her delight. The driver did nothing to stop them. It didn't take long for the one next to her to regain his coughing fit in the midst of his anger, and the moment he pressed his head to the opposite shoulder to muffle the hacking she wrapped her fingers around the gun and yanked it harshly to the side. A sharp _crack_ was heard and he screamed, disturbing the other two, but the gun had already fallen out of his limp fingers. By the time they had the minds to point their weapons it was too late; she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the driver's midsection, and ripped open the tendons of his neck.

The familiar, hot taste of blood felt right on her tongue. It spurted from the front of his neck onto the windshield, and further on the side passenger when he turned his head with a gasping breathe. Of course it didn't matter if the windshield had been painted entirely red because without a driver the car spun out of control. Within a few seconds they smashed into the front of a boarded up restaurant reading _The Best Seafood this Side of Gotham!_.

The individual shrieks were the sounds of her freedom. She had somehow avoided the deadliest shards of glass being thrown at her, the smaller ones barely piercing through the old body armor, and fell out the door as soon as she opened it. The blood affected her in ways she wouldn't describe, the only thing on her mind, bringing a sense of animalistic hunger into her, she absolutely needed it _right that second_. She could still taste the flesh, never mind who it had come from. It drove into her deeper than any natural predator's killing instincts. She _needed_ to eat them, she had to devour them entirely, if she didn't her body would wither and crumble and she would die and she was absolutely not a failed experiment... They couldn't tell her that! Never would she give them a reason to dispose of her! The one who had been holding the gun and now sported a broken wrist, likely the only one left alive if the glass had sliced open the two in front, scrambled loudly out the other side of the car. Her face split into a savage grin as the scent of his blood reached her.

She stood on trembling feet. She couldn't keep this up for much longer, she knew. Even with instincts distorting her thoughts she realized that she was losing strength. He grimaced but didn't have the strength to scream obscenities at her. Instead, he shoved his arm forward. He had no idea that he had dropped the gun earlier and twitched his fingers uselessly, then as the reality dawned on him he began to move. He jerked forwards - she could see gore trickling down his leg - and fell to his knees only a foot away. She too fell, but on top of him. Her teeth sliced into his face, hand burying in his stomach, and she knew she wasn't going to starve quite yet.

The macabre scene continued for a few minutes before anyone else stirred. By then she had dragged the body to lay against the car and crouched with her back to the rest of the street. The man on the passenger's side hadn't died after all; he limped out of the car, holding his own handgun in both hands, and pointed it steadily at her. She was too preoccupied to notice. It registered in her mind, but she had been so panicked at the possibility of starving and failing her scientist that she ignored him.

The only thing stopping him from shooting was a shadow blacker than the night which rose behind him and knocked him out in a single blow. In any other situation she would have run for the nearest cover at the sight of it. Why the Bat didn't immediately subdue her was a mystery, for her stance was reminiscent of a grieving civilian but the hellish sounds were absolutely not. "Are you alright?" he asked in a tone betraying his tensed muscles. Her head snapped towards him, red glinting in the dim streetlights and the oozing mess clearly visible once she shifted. She felt a brief panic at the sight of him that cut through even her bloodlust, but after that she remembered nothing but for a sharp pain.

She regained brief consciousness in a painfully bright room with the Bat and one of the uniformed humans from a swarm. The police, she recalled the name but couldn't remember from where. There were no police in her lab. Something else stood with them as well, a Something in the corner of her eye that she dared not acknowledge. The policeman moved his lips, no sounds cutting through in her haze. She blinked stupidly - her mask was missing, she realized - and jingled her handcuffs.

"Your name, goddammit!" It was the first thing that she caught the meaning of. She had no desire to answer and that lack of desire increased tenfold with the Bat lurking. It didn't occur to her that she should be in a panic at his proximity, not with the strange film over her eyes that made every one of their movements last a lifetime. The officer asked again and she clicked at him, then let out a sort of growl that was nothing like what should have come out of her throat. He narrowed his eyes and asked another question, but she gave a similar response.

She missed the taste of blood. Without the bloodlust it still left a pounding need in her mind. She eyed the policeman's flesh, but there was no chance of fighting in this position. Nevertheless she lifted her lips and hissed. He barely flinched as if he was used to that sort of thing, then continued with his words. _Words_. This was what humans boiled down to. She didn't need their words, she needed... something else. She couldn't quite recall what she needed. Or where she was, for that matter. Why had she come here? Why hadn't she stayed in the desert?

The third one in the room, standing right before her now, cocked its head and waved an oozing appendage in her face. She could barely see the others behind its twisted form. "Useless," it hissed; its sounds belonged to no language yet she understood the meaning perfectly. "Weak. Expandable. Null. An error for the rest of us. Aren't you going to kill it? _Can_ you kill it?"

"Yes," she murmured. The policeman hammered his questions with renewed vigor at the sudden sign of life, but she never even heard him. The perfect obsidian eyes bore caverns into her flesh. Little mites and maggots found homes in the places left empty, creeping from the edges of her vision and nestling alongside her lungs and liver. They were the lucky ones, the ones who knew their purpose.

"Where is your loyalty? You think you can _hide_ from us, you cunt?!" It threw back its maw and cackled. She flinched violently and the policeman drew back in alarm, but her gaze didn't quite meet his face.

Everything hurt and she wanted to be sick and die. She wished Death would swoop down and caress her like a knight in old tales and save her from the beast, and give her a reason to stop. Could they find her there? Would they chase her into that void?

There were no further memories after she faded out of consciousness until she awoke with her body bound in the dark room.

...

Last night had been a joyride. A _joyride_ compared to this hell. He had concluded without a doubt that the disgusting woman had put something inside him, and it burned horribly. At times his body would seemingly burst into flames without the actual flames, as it turned out you didn't need to be on fire to feel that sort of agony. The skin of his bitten arm had turned many different colors throughout the day, including the rings forming around it, and now the center had burst into a hole of pus.

 _Vile_. Jonathan Crane had experienced bites of all sorts, but not like this. There was little which would ease the pain. From the brief time he managed to examine his blood under a microscope, there seemed to be no easy solution to the mess. This wasn't just her dirty mouth or a common poison, it seemed almost flawless in its counters to everything he might throw at it.

The one upside to that was that if she had bioengineered herself such a toxin - or if someone else had done it, considering her glaring lack of intelligence - then they understood how it worked. They would know its weaknesses and likely had a cure at hand, and if not then they had the formula for one. No one who could make something this potent would be stupid enough not to have a quick fix in case it went wrong.

The Joker would applaud him at thinking this much about a girl. His mood soured further when the clown entered his thoughts. It did not improve in the slightest when instead of getting a message that she was restrained in one of his hideouts, he was notified via the next morning's news that a mysterious person _with a hideous mask_ was apprehended that night.

No name, uncertainty over gender until the police released more information, absolutely nothing known about them. Not even a picture but for the mask thanks to the "graphic state of the crime". He breathed in, counted to ten, breathed out, and felt a new wave of fury rush through him. Batman always interrupted his work, and now he stole away someone that was rightfully his. Not only that, but without her he would be in deep trouble. This would not do. The Scarecrow side of him whispered to chase her down and draw out whatever screams she held before torturing her in exchange for his pain, but he knew that wasn't feasible. Not with his arm.

They were keeping her confined within Arkham Asylum until they deemed if she was sane enough to be sent to Blackgate. Technically they needed to wait for the court, but no one considered her being deemed innocent. They said she had killed one, possibly two men - perhaps in self defense since they were wanted men and had been seen attacking her - and then eaten one. Physically devoured half of his insides. That wasn't counting the suspected past victims. The second news channel he watched didn't hesitate to make connections to the likes of Killer Croc, already wondering if her mask was the sign of an upcoming Rogue.

The media loved to talk about the Rogues and related any large crime to them. They were _dying_ to dub another despite the implications of another costumed criminal. The next channel he flipped to spoke about how an anonymous source had mentioned that she was unable to speak, making "some kind of weird noises like a goddamn animal", and the reporter ran with the idea. He knew for sure that she could speak and doubted the accuracy of some of these reporters. Not that they had ever been the least bit proficient.

He hated himself for doing it, but there was one way to get her quickly. His own health was too important to waste time. They picked the phone up after only a couple rings and answered with a lively, "Morning, Jon." Even the tone threatened to give him a headache, but this was the most reliable choice.

"Nygma. You're going to do something for me."

* * *

 **What's that, _character interaction_ coming up? And a name, and perhaps even development? This is the point where we're moving past the introduction and into something tastier.**


	4. Schistocerca gregaria

All I can really say about the late update is 'unexpected hospital trip'. Finals are a bitch, so the next one might be off from my planned schedule as well..

* * *

"If you can't come in from the cold, then you gotta grow ice over your heart."

-Martin Finnegan

* * *

Blood. She tasted blood.

Any traces of her dreams, good or bad, slipped away the moment she became conscious enough to recognize the taste. The bug girl floated in a haze for a moment longer, aware of the strange pressures across her body but not quite ready to accept their implications. It was the blood that jolted her into a state of sudden, unwelcome awareness. She pressed her tongue very slowly against her teeth, scraping the remnants to where she could easier reach them. A strip of something a bit more solid had wedged itself inbetween her molars and she knew instantly that they were older, maybe in their late 50's, and likely a woman from the bitter hint of perfume. It was the top layer of skin, then, not something she had pulled away from inside someone.

She burst into action, baring her teeth and stretching her limbs to snatch away whoever had given her that fatal taste, but her arms wouldn't move and it occurred to her that they were close to her body and starting to ache. Her fingers wouldn't move either, they were trapped. The panic rose in her chest quicker than she could push it down.

 _Trapped._

She tried to open her eyes but they had been open the entire time; there was nothing to see, only an inescapable blackness that pressed itself further and further into her eyes and began trickling down into her insides. Wrapping itself around her, the darkness crushed down into the pores of her skin. She swung her head around to keep it away - useless, it was all around - and crashed into what felt like a wall, or a floor, or... or a ceiling, even. Something protruded from her mouth, strapped to the sides of her head. She could feel the straps digging in when the foreign object hit the surface.

All around her were straps, or were they the tendrils of the black air? They were far too tight. Soon they would start chewing through her flesh and into the insides, and eventually if she didn't get out they would come out the other side and leave her cut up like a slab of meat. She tried to bite away the restraints but the foreign object stopped her from so much as licking her own skin. It hurt to bang it against her sides, and she did it again and again in hopes that the object would break apart.

"Having fun?"

Her muscles froze until the visitor shifted and she heard bits of its exoskeleton grind together, then a heavy breath ripped from her throat and she resumed her struggling. No matter how hard she beat her mouth restraint it wouldn't break, not against her bones or the floor, and none of her flailing would free her limbs. Her legs were free but the first attempt at walking ended before she even stood. It could do whatever it wanted while she was bound, it knew that and she knew that. Whatever it wanted even if it wanted to eat her and it most certainly did, nothing wouldn't want to eat her that was just the way of the world-

"I can do whatever I want when you're _not_ bound."

That was true.

"You doubted me?"

Not at all. It was never wrong, even if she didn't like what it said.

"You don't like what I say because you're weak. You don't belong with us. You're nothing."

Always right.

"You didn't even kill the human. There's no use for the ones who can't hunt."

Now _that_ wasn't the entire truth. "I'm still hunting him," she growled. "It's not over yet." Any threat in her voice was rendered useless by her curled up fetal position on the floor.

"Are you really?" It believed her as much as she did. "You're trapped. You can't kill him when you're dying in a cage."

 _Dying. Cage._ The words reminded her brain of the need to panic. She began thrashing around once more, this time so violently that she was sure her head would crack open against the wall. If it wasn't so softly cushioned, she might have. The restraints simply wouldn't break, unless... But if she could reach her flesh to chew her way to freedom, there wouldn't be a need to remove a limb in the first place. Bugs crawled up and down the walls, circling every possible way around her body with a freedom she could never have. They could burrow through the walls and escape this dark cage, leaving her rotting where she sat.

"Hope you're happy," she muttered. "Get out of here."

She could remain in the same position for long periods of time without any damage, but the restraints were so tight that her muscles were screaming to be moved. It had been several years since she'd been locked up in the lab, and those weren't memories she was keen to access. The intention there hadn't been to damage her anywhere, there they'd made an effort to keep her in top physical condition. If she stayed in this room her muscles would disintegrate. Her entire being would fall apart without access to their flesh, her veins would dry up and her brain would begin leaking toxins.

The concept of autocannibalism had only just entered her mind when the door - she hadn't even known a door existed - opened. The shadows released their grip and rushed out of her pores, retreating to the furthest corners of the room where even she couldn't find them. The light from the hallway, though dim and barely existent, was enough to blind her. She shut her eyes with a hiss until she could look without feeling the sharp pains.

"Look at this thing," a male grunted before she managed to open her eyes. "Hardly a murderer."

"What, you want to stick your dick in this one too?"

"Fuck off, that's for the pretty ones."

She knew enough to grind her teeth together and snarl. It didn't bother the men, if they could hear her over their own words. By that time she'd gotten a good look and didn't miss their muscles, but she calculated that she could take them down if unbound. "You like the tight ones too, remember?" one replied, the one without the shaved head, and she couldn't decide which she'd cut open first.

"For real, it's a lady, they can't kill."

His partner bellowed in laughter. He eventually managed to say, "You've only worked here for _two weeks_ , you haven't seen anything. The ones in the bitch wing will stick you the moment you get in them, and ain't you heard of the lady rouges? Like Quinn, she's a fine one but hell if you're crazy enough to get near her."

They moved in after that. The room was bright as daytime and there was no mask to cover her face, they could dig down and see everything. When the bald one stood behind her, her instincts screamed danger but she couldn't move enough to turn. There was a muzzle over her mouth too, she could see it clearly in the light, and there was no way of getting around it to fight back. The one in back lifted her to her feet while the other kept some sort of heavy rifle trained on her.

In any other situation she would have spent the entire time hissing and growling as they dragged her out of the room, but she needed to listen and figure out the layout of this prison. They didn't speak to her either and it suited her just fine. The other doors in the hallway were closed without windows, and no sounds could be heard from the outside. She had no sympathy for any others. The air stunk of piss and vomit and despair, and when the elevator doors eased shut she struggled to control her panic at the enclosed space and increasingly vile smells.

At the end of the journey, after walking past the bleached white walls and brighter rooms of wherever they took her upstairs, they led her to the doctor's office. The words on the door named him Dr. William Stout, as if giving someone's full name to the people they captured in this prison was a good idea. The doctor himself was an older man, not quite expressive enough for her to get a handle on. He said nothing after she was placed in a chair and left alone with him, he merely folded his hands and stared at her naked face.

"You can't get out," he finally said when she tried to stand. "Those restraints prevent you from acting out."

She narrowed her eyes in derision, letting him know without words exactly how she felt about him. It didn't phase him in the least. "You've been admitted here, to Arkham Asylum, until a decision is made on your sanity, or lack of," he finally continued. "They haven't determined your court dates, but your future will depend on what is decided here, by me. Are you aware of your crimes?"

No reply. He sat in the uncomfortable silence for a full minute before saying, "You'll have to wait for someone else to come before you can hear the exact charges. I'm not sure if they've decided the body count to place on you. Your legal representative is still being decided on, but you can expect to see them sometime this week."

This time, he didn't wait for her to reply. "For today, I just need to collect some basic information. We couldn't find anything on you, not even a name. We're going to need some medical information. When you first arrived, you were sent immediately to the medical wing and the doctors tried to fix you up and do some basic cleaning. You woke up despite the medicine they administered you, and then removed and consumed part of a nurse's face. Do you remember that at all?"

So that was what she'd tasted. It served them right for removing her mask. She didn't answer but for a few inhuman sounds, and would not utter any actual words when he questioned if she could speak. He then placed a stack of papers in front of her and asked if she could read and check a few boxes, but once again she refused his request and glared. She'd given the people at her lab this exact information even though they already had it, and there was no way she was giving it out again.

"A name," he said. "We need at least a name. Do you have one? Do you remember it?"

In truth, she did not.

At the end of it all, he sighed and muttered, "You realize you need my support if you don't want to be locked in Blackgate for the rest of your life?" but she still remained silent. They took her to another place, this time away from the basement. Glass cells lined each side of the hall, each filled with pairs of women. None of them were wearing straitjackets, although they wore the same white clothing as herself.

They were smart enough to give her a cell to herself, at least. If she'd been placed with someone else, she would have found some way to cause trouble. One of the girls alongside her cell was frail little thing which, if this was on the streets, she would have been able to kill without a second thought. Some of the ones across from her were more muscular. It didn't matter, all of them should have been prey rather than neighbors, and it bothered her that anyone could see her without the mask.

"Why the fuck does she get her own room?" one of the other females complained, but she said nothing more after the bug girl bared her teeth and gave a few predatory clicks, and they all got a very good look at her face.

The straitjacket was removed a while later, filling her with relief since there was no way she'd have been able to use the toilet with it on. Her muscles were practically dead after being bound for so long. No one came to bring her food, even when the other women were allowed free for various reasons, including dinner. She tried to hide her envy, but couldn't help shooting them a few hateful glances when the guards released them. One of the guards caught her looks and snapped, " _You_ don't get any food, you already ate one of the nurses."

That night, she decided to take revenge on the others even if she couldn't physically touch them.

The guards returned the next morning to find several of her neighbors huddled in opposite corners from her and begging to be moved. When questioned, they would only say, "It's a monster," or "You didn't hear the noises." The guards left after that, presumably to argue over what to do about her. One lingered in front of her, scrutinizing her with an odd look on his face, then said:

"Which beast has the pointed metal teeth?"

He left without another word.

* * *

She was honestly surprised when they didn't place her back in the dark, solitary basement room. They led her instead to a hall with larger, yet empty, cells. The only one occupied was directly to the right of her, and the woman sat with her back to them all. "Doc wants you around others," she was told. "But this might be the only one you won't punk out."

This room was much nicer than the others, she decided. The silence was much preferred to the chattering in the other place, and the woman didn't so much as glance in her direction. She eyed the cot, then chose to settle on the floor instead. The concrete was freezing cold, but she had room to stretch in all directions. It felt fantastic to do so without being annoyed by others after so much time in the straitjacket, she even started to feel her eyelids droop.

"Are you planning on sleeping there?"

The voice was lush and sensual, the kind which men dreamed of. It wrapped around her ears like a warm jungle vine, making her instantly perk up and turn to watch the other woman. She was beautiful, with hair the color of fresh blood. The skin tone especially interested her, a light, delicate green, reminding her of several similarly colored insects.

She was waiting for a reply with a less than pleased expression. "Yeah," the bug girl answered, noticing right away how harsh her voice was compared to the green woman's smooth words.

"You obviously have no experience here. The floors retain no heat, if you try to sleep there your core body temperature will drop and you will eventually die." Though she sounded annoyed, the bug girl took her advice as an odd gift.

"Thanks," she murmured as she sat up. "Are you an insect?"

Very slowly, with a raised eyebrow, the woman replied, "You managed to get sent to the rouges' wing and you have no idea who I am?"

She shrugged. "I don't pay attention to humans."

"Really. What's your name?"

"Are you going to tell the doctors?"

"I wouldn't dream of telling those wastes anything."

It wouldn't hurt, she figured. If the other woman was a bug, maybe she would be alright. "I'm specimen nine of the Locust project. They called me Locust after all the others died."

The woman's expression couldn't have soured faster. "Ah, a _locust_. I am quite aware of how many plants your kind devour."

"No, no," she insisted. "I don't eat plants, I eat people."

She had once again captured the woman's great interest. "Oh, really? How noble of you. If only others had your diet, the world would be such a better place. I don't know how you came into this city without hearing of me. My name is Poison Ivy."

"So you're... a plant? Not human?"

"Indeed."

This Ivy woman was alright, she figured. She didn't know if she'd be able to eat a plant person, but she'd rather consume an actual human anyway. "I'm not human either," she confided. "They made me into a bug, but I need flesh, not greens. I think that's why I'm here."

The cot was cold and hard, but it wasn't much of a difference from her own bed and she drifted away quickly after laying on it. Ivy's presence didn't bother her as much as it normally have, now that she knew the other wasn't human. There was no need to hide or growl, and no worries about bloodlust setting in. Not to say that she _trusted_ her, she still slept with an air of caution, but the wall between them certainly helped.

No dreams arose to bother her. When she awoke, her stomach promptly reminded her of her hunger. She growled softly and began pacing; they hadn't given her the slightest scrap of food despite how long she'd been in there.

"Do they feed us?" she asked.

Ivy nodded. "How long have you been here?"

"I don't know. I think it's been a few days."

"They're disgusting, aren't they? They gladly refuse to _feed_ us even, as if we're mere animals to be trapped and controlled." Her face twisted with a hint of rage towards the end, and the Locust suspected that the anger was meant towards whatever they had already done to the other woman. She remained silent, knowing well enough to not disturb her. They had to be fed eventually if they planned on keeping her alive.

When the doors opened not long later, she craned her head to see if the guard had brought any food. He came without a partner, sending her on the alert. So far, she hadn't seen any not traveling in pairs. There was no visible weapon, either. Ivy didn't look up, so she couldn't tell from the more experienced woman's expression if this guard was an actual threat.

He stopped outside of her cell and leaned against it, not bothering to hide his stare. None of them had been this casual before. She hissed, betting that, even with the muzzle, she could take a chunk out of him if he had no weapon. If nothing else, she could smash him against the concrete.

"Naughty," he said. His voice was unnaturally low, as if he was purposely altering it. "Don't you know better than to talk that way to your superior?"

Ivy's head shot up instantly. She glared with as much venom as a diamondback wrapped in hemlock, equally suspicious of the new guard. With her obvious experience, anything which put her on the alert was a worthy threat.

"No words? They say silence is golden, although I'm afraid I've broken it by simply uttering its name."

"Nygma," Ivy snapped. "Drop the act."

The guard furrowed his brow. "Shut up!" he hissed. "How did you even see through my disguise?! It was perfect!"

Laughing bitterly, she replied, "I thought even you weren't stupid enough to think that the tricks of men would fool me."

His annoyance was visibly rising. "You're not going to ruin my plan! Stay out of this."

From what she could see, Ivy treated this man as less of a threat and more of an obnoxious joke. The Locust gritted her teeth, watching as they quickly forgot about her in their bickering. "The fuck is going on?" she finally demanded when their voices started growing louder.

The guard - Nygma - spared her a glance. "Seeing as how I've already been interrupted," he grumbled. "Be awake tonight. Don't eat any food they give you, it'll be drugged and I need you with a clear head. You _are_ the one who wore that mask? The beak mask?"

 _That mask_ , as if it was a mere object to be forgotten, as if he couldn't see why she needed it. "Yes. _That mask._ "

"Good. It might be a difficult concept, but don't be an idiot and screw this up."

Ivy had cooled down, but she hadn't lost her venom. It was clear that the two had some sort of mutual dislike. "What are you planning?"

To no one's surprise, Nygma didn't give her a second look when he turned and left. The moment the doors closed, she snapped, "Do you know him?"

The Locust shook her head. "Never seen him. Who was he?"

"That was Edward Nygma, the Riddler," Ivy growled. "Trust me, all men are worthless, but that one is as arrogant as they come. You don't want anything to do with him. I don't know _how_ no one else in here has caught on to his pathetic disguise, or why he seems interested in you, but don't trust him."

Ivy's mood did not improve over the course of the day. There was no way to amuse herself apart from drowning in her thoughts or sleeping, but no matter what the Locust did, Ivy did not say another word. Not that she tried to initiate conversation anyway, she had enough to think about right now. Of course she would never trust the fake guard, Nygma, but he was _new_ and a change like that could offer an escape route.

When they finally brought her a plate of unidentifiable food, it was repulsive enough that she didn't struggle to push it away. Ivy noticed this but didn't say anything. They got along well enough to not think of murdering the other, but they weren't at a level to have any reason to care about the other's safety. That was reserved for friends, which neither cared enough to have. If she managed to escape, they wouldn't be around each other for long anyway.

Untrustworthy or not, she decided, she didn't mind Nygma's meddling as long as it got her away from this prison and back into the hunt.


End file.
